Like You Mean It
by Jaffa Bakers
Summary: A bet gets turned into so much more after Rocket ends up saying something that he regrets. Pocket (Peter/Rocket) fanfic. Mature in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

The ship was too quiet, just the hum of the generator keeping them idling in orbit over some planet while Drax and Gamora sussed out the situation for their next bounty. Groot was still just a baby and Peter was... well, the man was **Peter**, and that was all the justification that Rocket needed to be sitting at the table by himself.

A bottle of hard spirits kept him company enough, the dark blue coloration slightly off-putting but it still did its job: burning down his throat and leaving him with that buzz grinding away at the back of his mind. He tried to think, he'd done just how many shots of the stuff already? Too many, was what his body protested, but he was nowhere near his goal of passing out in a pitch-black drunken state.

Rocket could barely focus on the bottle, his eyes seeing nothing but glass gripped in his hand as he went to upend it again and was rewarded only with a few small drops of the harsh liquor. That didn't seem right, the bottle had been full when he'd started, hadn't it? Why was it already empty? He let it drop onto the table with a clatter, putting his head on his other arm with a low groan.

"Fuggin'... have t' get up an'." He felt a belch bubble through his throat, the release of pressure leaving him aching. "An' get anudder bottle of booze." That was the idea, anyway, but the execution left something to be desired as he pushed back from the table. Instead of the chair sliding back along the stainless steel like it was supposed to, it pitched backwards and sent the pitifully drunk mammal toppling back along with it.

"FUCK!" Rocket barely managed the word before he landed on his back, feeling a harsh jolt of pain racing up his spine. Okay, that hurt. That really fucking hurt. He hissed through his teeth as he rolled over as slowly as possible, barely noticing just how much the room was spinning. "Ugh, oh krag. Urrp." He pitched and felt his body reject all he'd had to drink in a body-wracking burst. They were going to be so mad at him when they came into the kitchen and saw this. It was like he'd just upended his entire digestive system onto the floor in a single go.

It took him a moment before he managed to get to his feet, wobbling unsteadily as he found one of the towels stocked in a cupboard. He didn't even bother cleaning up his mess properly, Rocket just threw the towel onto the spattered mess with the hopes no one stepped on it in the morning and the resolve that he'd clean it up himself. That seemed satisfying in and of itself, but that still left the monumental task of getting himself to bed.

Directions got confused easily when he was drunk off of his ass, the mammal could've sworn that his bedroom was just off the kitchen and closest to the bathroom. He found the bathroom no problem, at the very least, taking some time out of his search for bed to wash his face and rinse out his mouth of whatever particulates decided to cram their way between his chompers. He managed a look in the mirror and frowned at what he saw.

His grey face was a mess, the fur of his left cheek smushed up against his face and the other whiskers were askew. His fur was rumpled and his clothing was grease-stained with a few marks from his meal for the evening. His eyes were bloodshot and even with a dark mask across his eyes, he still saw the rings of lack of sleep puffing up the lower lids of his brown eyes. Even his expression looked glassy, like he was just barely there amidst everything else. "Heh. Y' look like shit, asshole." He slurred to the mirror and could've sworn that his reflection sneered back at him. "Yeh well... well fuck you too!" He shouted, perhaps a bit louder than necessary but that was satisfying in and of itself.

He barely got his bedroom door open in time, his vision was starting to blur and black out. He made something of a half-assed attempt to get out of his clothes, ending up with his shirt half hanging off of him and his shorts left in a pile on the floor. He didn't even notice the sound of snoring in the darkened room, or that the bed was in the wrong place, or even that he certainly smelled something that wasn't Groot. No, he sunk onto the bed, wrapped his body around itself, closed his eyes and went right to sleep.

-0-

Peter didn't know what it was that woke him up to stare at his bedroom ceiling. Something just didn't sit right with him and it wasn't until he rolled over and felt a furry lump in the bed next that he realized he had a guess. He stifled a swear behind clenched teeth as he jolted back, his sandy blond eyebrows pushing together as he frowned. He slowly peeled the sheet back and was met with the curled up form of his friend and teammate, Rocket.

Quill sucked in a breath and almost immediately regretted it. He hated to say it, but the mammal just outright stunk of booze. It was enough for a 'dull-nosed humie' like him to feel the palpable waves of the stuff coming off of Rocket's sleeping form. "Ugh. You have got to stop drinking so much, Ranger Rick." He frowned a bit as he shifted slightly out of the bed, stopping when he felt claws sinking into his arm.

Well, that sensation alone deserved another look, watching as Rocket pulled his arm down and used it for a pillow. Almost immediately, Rocket's mouth opened and he started to snore like the engine start-up of a kree warship. "Well. I was gonna leave ya alone, but I guess we're stuck in bed with each other until your drunk ass wakes up." Peter chuckled softly as he lay back down on the bed, head meeting the pillow and letting his exhaustion carry him back to sleep.

-0-

Something was off. Wrong. It forced itself into the back of Rocket's mind and then started crashing through him full force, leaving alarm bells and sirens in its wake. He was not alone in his bed. It wouldn't have surprised him to wake up next to someone unintended after a heavy night of drinking but the limb he currently had his face buried against was warm, pink and definitely smelled like leather and sweat. Rocket jolted upright almost as fast his name-sake, voice carrying loudly. "WHAT TH' KRUTACKIN' HELL?!"

Well, that exclamation got Peter awake, who immediately drew his arm back to himself with a wince, looking towards Rocket to see if the raccoon was furious. He was. Oh, he was. Rocket was in full froth, pacing on the bed and screaming about violating his personal space and how dare Peter get his stinky human arms all over him and he didn't **swing** that way for anyone, especially some dumb-ass human.

"Rocket."

"An' another thing is y' can't just get into another man's bed, Quill! I know yer ass is lonely as fuck but y' gotta give me some fuckin' credit here! I got standards an'-"

"Rocket, would you just."

"Yer gonna give me a heart attack one of these days an' I'll just have t' haunt ya and make y' feel like shit! That'd be good for your self esteem wouldn't it?!"

"Rocket. You're in _my_ bed."

"An'... Wait. What?" That got Rocket to stop, blinking a few times down at the man. And it was all slowly clicking into place. How he'd stumbled through the room in the dark, how the bed was in the wrong spot, and just how sickeningly **snuggly** he'd been during the night. "O-oh." He said simply, jumping off of the bed.

"Oh? That's it? You start tearing me a new one just for sleeping in my own damn bed and the best you can come up with is 'oh'?"

"I said oh an' I mean oh. If ya want an apology... then yeh, I'm sorry I woke you up." Rocket said flatly, biting onto his lower lip. "I'm... I'm gonna go fer right now. I gotta clean up th' mess I made in th' kitchen before Drax and Gams get back." And with that, the procyon walked out the room, rather oblivious to the fact that he'd still left his clothes sitting around on Peter's floor.

"Hey! The hell am I supposed to do with your stinky clothes?" Peter called after, but the lack of response made him swear under his breath. "Asshole!"

-0-

The kitchen stunk, there was no two ways around it. And it was all Rocket's fault. His nose wrinkled as he moved the towel out of the way, haphazardly tossing it into the clothes hamper along with the other used rags and looked down at the mess. It'd stuck into the floor and it just. Urgh. It made his stomach want to do flips, so he could only imagine what it would be like for someone like Peter to waltz on in here and see it.

It took him a lot of effort: moving the stepladder into place near the sink, diluting the disinfectant into a bucket he filled with hot water, making sure that it was disinfectant and not pancake syrup (he'd had that happen before, the kitchen smelled like sticky sweetness for a week) and finally he was able to grab several rags and bring the result down to the floor.

That was how Rocket was when Peter strolled into the kitchen, looking freshly dressed for the day if not freshly showered. Still in just a pair of underwear and scrubbing the living daylights out of the floor beneath him, the rag working away the filth of whatever Rocket had managed to do during the night.

"Thought when you said you made a mess, I was going to find bottles all over the place. Not... y'know. Throw up." Peter said gently, grinning like a goofball when Rocket just glared up at him with an expression that said he'd be dead if he was anyone else. "If you need help, just lemme know or something. I'm starving in the meanwhile and I'm sure you are too."

Rocket was about to say something when a hollow noise wrung through his stomach, an empty gurgle that begged for something to be filling the mammal's gut. "Yeh. I could eat." He murmured from his spot on the floor, tail flicking as he pushed his hands down as hard as possible to get the staining out of the floor.

Quill clapped his hands with a huge grin, rubbing the calloused palms together as he turned towards the refrigerator. "Okay then! Let's see what we got: xandarian duck eggs, salazarian bacon, pancake mix, fresh aldarian tree syrup..." As the human talked, he loaded up his arms with whatever came to mind. Soon he looked like he should've had a cart or something underneath him, barely able to see out from around the large pile of food he'd decided to make for the pair of them.

He pivoted in a practiced dancer's step, booted feet hitting the ground as he waltzed over to the kitchen stove. Save for the fact that his foot found contact with where Rocket had been scrubbing and his leg came out from under him, catching the mammal in the chin before he could react, it would've all gone according to plan. But as it was, Rocket got a sore jaw and only watched as the produce flew upwards and landed all over the kitchen, spattering red eggs all over the floor with some of it even landing on Quill's coat and in Rocket's fur.

Rocket didn't know when his teeth started grinding against each other as he set his jaw, stepping carefully over to the fallen human with an evil, malevolent look in his eyes. He shoved the rag he'd been using just moments before into Quill's face, scowling. "Y' can clean up yer fuckin' mess. Fuck breakfast!" And with that Rocket turned on his heel and stormed towards the restroom.

-0-

A moment later, Peter heard loud cursing from the mammal coming from the bathroom along with the sound of rushing water. He let a frown decorate his face before shrugging his shoulders. Rocket's temper was always flaring up in the worst ways, but once he calmed down he'd definitely be wanting something to eat. Peter got an idea, grinning just a little bit as he put two of the rags under his feet after making sure they were wet with soapy water.

Once the bacon and sausage rounds were sizzling away in a pan, Quill started to dance. Just a slow shuffle at first but soon he was busting out moves that would put Elvis Presley to shame. He swung his left leg around, skidding across the floor as the leather of his jacket snapped against his body. It was the physical release of dancing that brought him the most happiness, not even keeping time with any sort of beat or even his music.

He fumbled for a moment as he reached for the tapedeck built into the wall before the sweet tones of the Jackson 5 blared their way through the kitchen. As the music reverberated, it was like it vibrated his entire being along with it, unable to stay still as he flipped pancakes, a little flourish as he put a fork through the bacon to plate them up and he couldn't possibly resist a little moment with the spatula as a microphone before using it to get the sausage up.

He was so lost in his own little world that he didn't notice Rocket coming into the kitchen, pushing one of the chairs out before climbing up onto it. At least, he didn't until the mammal cleared his throat as loudly as possible. "Y' gonna share somma that, Quill? Or am I diggin' in the fridge for food again?"

Peter had to admit that a shower had done the raccoon a lot of good. His fur was clean and brushed out, he didn't have noticeable bags under his eyes and it looked like he'd even taken a bit of extra time to trim his claws and find a shirt and pair of pants that weren't stained in some fashion. Probably to change by the end of the day, considering the mammal's habits of getting into the vents or in a control panel or just magically attract dirt. He swore that Rocket could attract dirt in a sterile environment just by standing in the middle of the room with a wrench in hand.

Either way, he plated up a couple pancakes and slices of bacon just for the raccoon, even getting out the fruit marmalade that he knew that Rocket liked. Just a little apology for the egg thing, in his own goofball way. Rocket looked down at the glass jar of mixed and crushed fruit before he grunted out a soft thanks and poured it over the top of his pancakes.

They both sat quietly, neither of them wanting to do much talking for fear that they'd let their tempers with each other flare up again. It didn't surprise Peter in the slightest that Rocket practically forced the food down his throat, stopping only long enough to take a drink of water now and again so that he could easily eat more. Less than five minutes passed before Rocket pushed the empty plate forward. "I'm gonna go work on th' engines or somethin'." Like that was all the mammal needed to say to make Quill understand. _Don't come bother me for a while_ was the message hidden in those simple words.

"Well, alright. Hey, before you go." Quill started, regretting it when Rocket fixed him with a stare that just screamed that whatever Peter was about to say better be good. "D'ya maybe need a drinking buddy tonight? Keep you from overdoing it that bad again." He paused a moment. "Get you to your room all safe-like?"

Rocket's eyes narrowed just a bit before the procyon sighed out, then offered Peter one of the rarest gifts that the raccoon could give him: a slight smile. "Yeh, I could use someone to drink with. Drax ain't no fun, Gamora is just dangerous for m' health an... an' Groot's still jus' a baby."

The quiet way Rocket said that last one just spoke volumes about the relieved heart break he'd gotten over after Groot had started recovering. Everyone was pretty sure that the tree man had kept his memories despite the rather explosive way he'd gone out after the crash, but Rocket still thought of him as a toddler. Something small. Something that Rocket had to protect at all times.

"Cool. Cool." Peter said, putting a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. "Cool. Well, see ya t'night then."

"Yeh. T'night. An' y' better buy some better shit than that blue drink y' got."

-0-

"So what yer tellin' me is that you have been with at least two hunnerd women? An' all of 'em different?" Rocket's mouth was hanging open and he didn't care. Peter was telling him the most physically impossible thing in the universe.

"Yep! Two hundred women and not a single species was the same. Though I did go back to certain ones!" Peter grinned amiably, popping the bottle back into his mouth and taking a slow drink out of it. Rocket's fingers were laced around a large glass filled with some dark amber liquid that he'd been assured was Jack Daniels whiskey while Quill nursed something he'd called Rolling Rock. All these different drinks and they weren't even made up of the same stuff that most alien alcohol was, just some cruddy plant fermented in one way or another.

"You have got t' be fuckin' with me. There ain't no way that your sorry ass has ever landed more than one or two women at a time." Rocket scoffed. "I've been with ya at every bar we set house in an' you can barely go an evenin' without gettin' the stupid temporarily slapped out yer head!"

"That's cause I've stopped using The System." Quill said with a grin. "It was a cheat code to get my hands down any lady's pants and it just wasn't fair to be using on them." Every inch of Peter was just dripping with smug satisfaction at this point.

"System? You have a system. An' y' don't use it cause it made things too easy?" Rocket took a slow drink of his whiskey, an idea forming in his mind. Well, half of a half of an idea. "Alright. Let's see th' system."

"See it? Whatcha mean, Ranger Rick?"

"First, don't call me that. Second, use yer system on me. I can easily tell if yer absolutely full of shit." Rocket leaned in across the table, feeling that keen sort of buzz in the back of his head. He just fixed Peter with his best 'I'm waiting' stare, ready to laugh his ass off.

Peter coughed a bit, adjusting himself slightly in his chair. He ran a comb through his hair to bring the sandy blond locks into some sort of tidy and curled order. There was a few moments of unsteady silence between the pair of them as Quill fixed himself up to look nicer than he normally did.

And then he leaned over. "Well, hey there, miss." That was all he got out before Rocket busted out laughing.

"Oh come on! Yer not even going to do me th' treat of callin' me like I am? We're not doin' a little roleplay here. Take it from the top, like y' actually mean it." Rocket grinned. "Unless y' wanna admit y' just can't do it."

"Hey, shut up! All right, all right, all right." Quill rubbed at his forehead. "Asshole. I'll show you." Quill closed his eyes a moment, trying to get his focus. He breathed out slowly through his nose before he opened his eyes, meeting the pale blues with Rocket's milk-chocolate browns.

"You should let me get you your next drink." Quill said, sliding in closer to Rocket's side via pushing his chair closer. His fingers eased around Rocket's, taking the glass from him gently. He smiled as he grabbed the bottle of Jack from nearby, pouring it over the ice in the raccoon's glass. "Now, how about you just tell me what's on your mind right now. What makes you, you."

-0-

Rocket was doing his level best to control his breathing, his whiskers twitching subtly. There was an inexpressible tight hollow in his chest as Quill got close. Rather uncomfortably close. Quill's arm slung around his shoulders and he got that scent of leather close to his snout. He brushed off the heat rising to his cheeks as little more than the alcohol getting to him.

"Well, if you're not going to talk, then I'm going to tell you a little bit about myself." Peter took a sip of his drink, grinning. "I'm Peter Quill. The Star Lord. And the best looking Terran on this side of the known galaxy. You might've heard of me after I saved the galaxy?"

"Quill, I know who ya are, y' don't have to exactly-"

"Oh? Well, if you know who I am then I won't need any introduction and this was all just me being a little silly. How about this then." Quill turned around, taking Rocket's hands into his. "How about you and me, we go somewhere a little quieter with a bottle of whatever you want to drink. Go see the stars a little more up close and personal?"

Rocket's breathing hitched in his chest. Dammit, Quill was actually really good at this. It was almost as if he were getting a little turned on by how _smooth_ the idiot could actually be. Except that's exactly what it was, the back of his mind told him. He felt uncomfortable around the pants and he didn't have to look down to know why. Just an imperceptible shift and Quill never would notice it.

"So whaddya say? Shall we get going? Take care of each other while the stars flick by? I guarantee you haven't experienced anything unless you're making love amid the stars."

Rocket practically threw the hands off of his, knowing that his fur was up and he was growling a little low in his throat. "Jus'... jus' stop Quill!" He stood up in his chair. "I... Ergh!" He pitched himself forward and kissed the human on the cheek. He immediately regretted it when he felt Quill's laughter.

"Rocket, what's..." Quill started, feeling Rocket shaking against him. The kiss didn't bother him so much, it was how Rocket was behaving about doing it.

"Yer... yer a damn attractive guy an'. An' yer so successful." The raccoon breathed out. "An' what do I got to show. Y' don't need anyone like me bein' in this damn room." Rocket was working himself up into a fury and all Quill could do was watch. "Y'know what it's like, havin' jus' assholes for company all the time? It's the most stable thing I've ever had. An'. An' then you get all **smooth **and comfortable with yerself an' y' don't even pitch a fit over me askin' y' to do yer thing. An'. An' it just. It just." Rocket paused for a moment, trying to suck down a breath of air past the emotions bubbling out in a flow. "I can't be doin' this shit. Y' win yer damn bet, kay? Y' successfully made me wanna bed ya an' cuddle ya an' all this other CRAP on top of this other crap. Good job."

Rocket grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table, fixing Quill with another look before rushing off to his room. He didn't even get to see how Quill just sat back in his chair, frowning before putting his own bottle to his lips before sighing out 'idiot' under his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

Quill was an idiot. Not exactly news to Rocket, but this latest _thing_ had just been icing on the stupid cake that was Peter fuckin' Quill. He'd pilfered a bottle of whiskey before he'd stormed out of the galley, taking a long pull from it as he manually disabled the lock to his door to make it so it didn't even recognize his body signature. And then he slumped there in front of it, just the feeling of hot tears tracking along his cheeks.

_Since when do you give half of a shit about what that flarkin' asshole does? Huh? Little fuckin' fairy?_ The thoughts pushed in on Rocket's mind and made him put his hands to his temples, half in pain and half to make the idea go away. "Stupid fuckin'..." He sobbed softly. Since when had he given so much as a damn over Quill? Right after the whole Ronan thing, when Rocket was at his lowest possible point if he was being even remotely honest with himself.

There he was, holding a charred, broken twig of what used to be Groot. People were walking and talking around him but Rocket didn't hear any of it, didn't acknowledge any of the pats on his back, didn't do anything but stare down at the husk of his best friend in his hands. Just the memory alone was enough to make Rocket curl up just that little bit tighter to himself.

Everyone whispered about how he was probably going to die without the flora colossus around him, asking if they should take the twig away before Rocket did something _crazy_ with it. They wouldn't have known crazy if it bit them in the face, which is probably what he would've done if they'd ever decided to take Groot away. He pulled his head up and promptly rested it back against his door, ignoring the noise coming from outside of it.

During it all, one person paid attention to him. Made sure he ate, made sure he took a shower, didn't do anything drastic. _Rocket. You gotta live for Groot. He's gonna grow back in that pot and you gotta make sure you're there for him like he's always been there for you._ It stuck with Rocket, making him want nothing more than to _live_, prove all the other assholes wrong about him. That he was capable of living on his own.

Except he wasn't. Just thinking of Quill's smug face with that grin as he tried to 'woo' Rocket, keeping it all a game and it just. It just. It hurt. He felt the ache inside of his chest even now, an ache that wasn't going away with the whiskey burning down his throat. He threw the bottle against the wall, watching it shatter out of morbid curiosity. It broke like a nebula, sending glittering bits of glass across his floor, whiskey staining the wall and floor.

_Hmf. Almost looks like how yer heart feels, queer._ It made him want to bite. More than usual, anyway. He wanted nothing more than to bite down into some scum's neck and not let go until his jaws were painted in sanguine. Or whatever the hell color the victim's blood ended up being. Exhaustion clawed at his mind but he fought it off, pushing it down. He needed to do something. Fix or destroy, it didn't matter.

He pulled a monitor off of the wall, watching the circuits fizzle and pop before the auto-shutdowns kicked in and killed the electricity pumping to them. Rocket stared down at the thing, sitting against the wall as he pulled out his various tools to try to make it into something worthwhile. That was all he could think to do, sitting in the quiet of his room and a multi-tool clutched in his hand, doing his best to keep his face angled just enough away that tears didn't splash and ruin his work.

-0-

He was an idiot. Nothing new there, Quill thought sourly. He ignored all the advice about beer and liquor and took a huge swig out of a bottle of beer. It was terrifying just how much he could drink when he was getting depressed, nearly a whole bottle gone before he'd even registered it. Was he drunk? Hell yes. Was it making him feel better? Hell no.

He didn't know why he kept trying with Rocket, doing anything to remotely get the procyon's attention. It just kept getting thrown back in his face as a joke or a game, Rocket seemed to think that no one could actually care for him. Heaven forbid if someone made an attempt to get closer to him. This latest one was just another failed attempt in a long line of them.

When Groot had 'died', Peter had done his best to be there for him, to let him know he had people that cared for him. He'd made sure Rocket at least choked down a granola bar or got some water or just took care of himself. If not for the raccoon's own sake, then for Groot's. Except if that depressed husk of a raccoon was around him now, he probably would've been trying to convince Rocket to do it for **Peter's** sake.

Quill stood up on shaky feet, heading down the hall from the galley towards Rocket's room. Unsurprisingly, the door lock was engaged and keeping everyone out. Or Rocket in. He knocked on the door. "Rocket? Hey, Rocket. I just wantcha t' know that I wasn't playing around. Well. I was, but I'm totally serious right now." It was silent, he swore he could hear sobbing coming from inside and that alone was enough to make him want to break down the door. He knocked again, louder this time.

"Rocky, just. Just lemme in. Then we can maybe talk this whole thing out?" He pleaded with the blank-faced door, hand resting against the cold surface. He wobbled unsteadily on his feet, blinking a few times. "Rock? Rocket, listen to me."

Still no answer. Peter sighed as he slumped against the door, resting his head against it. If he wasn't so tired, he'd be getting Drax to open the door by force. Much as he wanted to see Drax plow through the door as if it were tissue paper and he was the kool-aid man... he didn't want to move.

"Rocket, I'm gunna sleep outside your door. Hope you don't mind stepping over me in the morning. And don't do anything stupid." He managed before he passed out like that, trying to make a mental note to actually talk with Rocket in the morning.

Except the thought was lost among a sea of other rushing ideas as he drifted off.

-0-

Peter woke to a weight on his lap, though it wasn't quite the furred lump he'd been hoping for. "The hell...?" He managed as he opened his eyes, blinking down at the device resting in his lap. From what he could tell, it was just a section of monitor, placed inside of a bit of plastic housing. On the side was a switch, ostensibly to turn it on, prompting him to do just that.

"Quill? I kinda didn't know how I was gonna talk t' ya, so I figured that somethin' like this might be more yer speed." It flashed with Rocket's face, looking positively sullen and Quill swore he could see the dried tracks on the procyon's face. "A-anyway, here's a game for ya. Took me an hour last night t' learn some programmin' an' there was other bits an' pieces to figure out."

Immediately, a sprite version of Rocket popped onto the screen, on top of a simple grass field. Quill tried the little thumb pad, rewarded with the raccoon moving to the left, then the right and even doing a bit of a jump when he pushed the button. He frowned a bit, trying to decide if he was going to let this take his concentration as he burned through the hungover fog in his mind.

_He made this for you. Least you could do is beat the first level_. His mind echoed as he propped himself into a more upright position. As he played, he watched Rocket just jump over bottomless pits, spikes made out of what Quill could swear were words, all this other stuff he couldn't begin to wrap his dazed mind around. As he played, Rocket's voice talked him through it. Telling him to do this or do that, make sure this block went there, in between bits and pieces of Rocket's emotional states.

The first level proved to be the last level, the end taking him through a lava-pitted castle, jumping across bridges and spiked balls and all these other things. When he pushed the last block into place, he was rewarded with the end screen and it made Peter choke a bit. It was a still image from their time in Nova Corps, just Peter with his hands on Rocket's shoulders and talking to him softly. He didn't even begin to imagine where or how this picture was taken, but frowned as Rocket's voice came over the simple speaker.

"An' that's when I fell in love with ya. No two ways 'round it. Y' cared for me, made sure I wasn't... wasn't going to do somethin' stupid." The voice grew softer, more gentle. A surprising change in tone for Rocket, voice over a speaker or not. "Yer a good guy, Quill, I keep thinkin' what it'd be like if... I unno. If I couldn't hear yer voice or somethin', like ya died on me or y' pushed me away cause of somethin' like this."

He set the device reverently on his lap as he listened to the recorded message, eyes closing to try to picture Rocket standing next to him. "Anyway... if'n ya want, we can talk. If ya don't, jus'. Jus' lemme know. Comm message, text or face t' face. Don't matter none t' me. I'll even pack up m' stuff."

Peter sighed softly, putting the back of his hand against his forehead. "Rocket, you are the dumbest smart person I know sometimes. And this has got to be another level for you." He stood slowly, slipping the device into his jacket pocket. If he was a judge of Rocket's workmanship, and he was getting there, this had taken the mammal at least five hours to complete. A quick look at the watch showed him that was done about an hour ago.

Rocket's door opened when he approached it this time, the lock mechanism having been put back into place or something after the mammal had finished his work. Peter stepped in slowly, letting the door hiss shut behind him. Rocket was wrapped up on the bed, his body curled tightly around himself.

"Rocket..."

-0-

Rocket froze in place when he heard his door open, closing his eyes and trying to adopt a regular breathing pattern as Peter's footsteps grew closer to the bed. "Rocket..." The voice began softly, a weight shifting him slightly on the bed and he couldn't pretend to sleep anymore.

"Whaddya want, Quill. Gonna laugh? Laugh at the queer little idjit with th' crush on th' big, mighty Star Lord?" He heard the venom in his voice and wondered how he'd let himself get so bitter so fast. But he rolled with it, sitting up and fixing Peter with his best glare. "Ya coulda at least lemme get some sleep or somethin'." Which was a lie, he wasn't going to sleep until this resolved itself one way or another.

"Look, Rocket." Peter snapped. "I'm here to talk to you about what was in your game. You can get bitchy with me all you like later but right now you are going to just shut up and listen, or so help me I will just ditch you on the next moon we find." He paused. "As long as it's breathable atmosphere."

Rocket felt himself cowed into silence, wincing under the palpable anger. Quill hadn't come in here to get yelled at and he sure wasn't helping his case at the moment. He'd spent about five hours trying to make that little game device and he was going to blow all of that effort if he didn't shut up.

"Look." Peter said softly. "You're a good guy. Cute, too, in a Disney-animal sorta way." He didn't pay attention to the little bit of anger creeping back into Rocket's features. "Stop. You're cute, no way around it. Get past all the scars and bitterness, you're a great guy. Probably the only one that I'd like to have in a pinch, except when you're drunk and your plan involves blowing up the thing I'm imprisoned on."

Rocket allowed himself a snort at the makeshift joke, trying not to meet Peter's eyes at the moment. He wanted nothing more than to pull down on his whiskers right now, a knee-jerk reaction to the heat crawling up his cheeks as Peter kept yammering on. "And here's the thing, I think I might feel the same way about you as the way you do about me."

Rocket's heart felt like it was going to burst, he wanted nothing more than to crow with joy at this exact moment so it surprised him when he felt himself pressing his head against Peter's chest and letting out a sob from deep inside of his heart. He clutched at the fabric, dabbing at his eyes as he tried to push himself into a more confident state. "Y' mean it? Yer not just pullin' m' leg or somethin'? Yer not makin' fun of me are ya?"

Peter put up one of his hands, thumb crossed on the palm, the other going over his heart. "Scout's honor. Not doing this to make fun of, make a fool of, or any other sort of thing that might hurt you." Quill glanced down, letting a charming smile cross his face, sweating just a bit at the deathly glare that kept Rocket's gaze fixated on him.

"... mmkay." Rocket said simply, jumping off of the bed. He pulled on Peter's pants leg until he followed, using the momentum to get Peter out the door of his room. He looked up, allowing himself a slight smile but keeping that distant, stand-offish look to his face. "You go find us somewhere nice to sit down an' junk, have us a good meal, maybe get a little bit of beer in us. I'm gonna sleep, then shower, then we're goin' out whether yer ready or not. I know more places 'n you."

"Why, Rocket, are you asking me to wine and dine y-" He stopped with the hum of a blaster charging, pointing up at his face. "Shutting up. Promise. Shutting up right the hell now." The hum stopped and he looked down, noticing that he'd put his hands up automatically. Rocket was grinning just that much more, practically this side of laughing.

"Get goin' 'fore I change m' mind about takin' yer sorry ass on a date." And with that the door closed. But Peter didn't care about the wall of cold steel between him and Rocket. His heart was decidedly lighter than it had ever possibly been before.

He had a date.


End file.
